A poem by Major Mick Renfrey who has been our strapper, manager and supporter on and off over the years. This one was penned after our 2004 grand final.

Now ...
Let's speak in slightly softer tones
I promise not to rend ya;
They wear the Blue and Red like us
they call their home Tregenza!

More fearsome group I've never seen
their hearts as bold as lions;
A little group of Amazons
theyll never cease from tryin'.

'Now what's this?', I hear you say
how can this ever be?
That sweet young ladies such as these,
could that ferocious be!!

'Aha!' says I, you do not know
the nature of this group;
They'd disembowel a crocodile
and cook him up for soup.

And should you doubt sincerity
of the words I say;
Then listen to some wisdom from a man,
  ... they call him Ray!

He is their coach, he knows them well
just for a touch of that pigskin;
Some say for him, they'd take on hell!
and all the evil Imps therein.

You see I've seen 'em play this game
they scrummage hard with nasty toys!
I'll tell you now these girls aren't tame
They ruck, they maul, just like the boys!!

And when from field they take their yen
some fine young ladies one and all;
they smile and sweetly turn agen
Princesses just come from a ball!

But wait, it's not of Dance I speak
these young'uns made of sterner stuff,
Their dedication worn each week
They never cry out "Hold enough!"

Don't be mistaken or misled
a sideways look could cost your head!
Unless of course one fancies you
then just beware they tackle too!!

Today I saw them play agen
I looked into their eyes once more,
their courage, their tenacity
and not a hint of fear, I saw.

They gathered round their number tight
their backs against the wall,
That moment was to do or die
I knew they'd give so much; their all!!

And as I think on what they did
my heart so moved within my chest.
I love them all I'm filled with Pride
their colours flying passed the test.

My tome has now come to its end
I fear no harsh reprisal.
This Old Collegian's Team of Frocs
has sparked a new revival!

See ...
Once upon a time long past
such greatness came with testing
These Old Coll's girls have proved no less
and now deserve their resting.

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The following poem was written by Sara Carpenter of Dartmouth Women's Rugby Club, after one week of rugby. Dartmouth have a great website, click here to link to it, where you will find further great quotes etc.

Reflections on my First Week...

Well, I'm still alive.
I was just sitting here, procrastinating,
thinking, wow it's Wednesday.
I've been taking college courses for one whole week now.
But more importantly

I've been playing rugby for one whole week now.
One week exactly.

One week ago I walked with another 'shmen,
(who quit already)
heavy with preconceived notions and inhibitions,
to Grand Union, where we got in an unfamiliar car.

Then we drove to an unfamiliar field to meet many new faces.
I lost track of the Laurens and Alisons.
I heard stories of games past, of injuries, of college life.
I tried to take it all in as an eager freshman.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to know
everyone's name, to be part of this team.

Then practice started.

We ran around, we passed.
We learned drills, and just when I finally figured out
where the heck I was supposed to go
we stopped that one--
Time for a new drill.

I thought
Hey, I can do this.
This rucking drill doesn't hurt that much.
Or was I mauling? Who came up with these words?

Then we scrimmaged.

And it was rainy and cold. Kinda muddy too.

I found myself laughing through my mouthguard.
What kind of sport is this? Is anyone else finding this humorous?
I whispered to someone
Can you really grab and pull like that?
No holding penalty?

Then it was my turn.

One week ago I got taken down by a faceless upperclassman
when I somehow got the rugby ball
by mere chance.
The hardness of grass and dirt is more profound
when you're trying to pretend that
you know what youÌre doing.

I thought
Hey, I can still do this.
But it kinda hurts.

Then practice was over, and I got a ride back to campus.
The fourth floor trek seemed like it was mocking me
as I huffed and puffed the whole way up.

I gallantly displayed my newly forming bruises to
my entertained roommate.
Then she showed me her crew blisters.
My war wounds were definitely cooler.

That was a week ago.

I still don't know any of the rules of rugby.

All of the freshmen that I knew dropped out.

I saw stars at practice today.

My mom seriously thinks that something is wrong with me.

But on the field this afternoon, something clicked:
Hey, I can do this.
I like it.
I'm not the fastest rookie. I don't have the best hands.
I'm definitely not the biggest.
But I like it.

I can't wait for my first game.
I'm sure that I won't really know what to do,
but at least I'm eager, even without the speed, hands, and size.
I can't wait to play and get dirty and be part of this group.

I can't wait to be part of the team.

But as an upperclassman passed me on the green tonight
and waved, what's up Sara,
I thought
Hey, just maybe--

I think I already am.

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The following was composed by Kristin McCarthy, President of the Philadelphia Women's Rugby Football Club, and was taken from Dartmouth Women's Rugby Club's web page. Dartmouth have a great site, click here to link to it, where you will find further great quotes etc.

Play Rugby.

If I could offer one tip for the future, playing rugby would be it. The long term benefits of playing rugby have been proved by ruggers world-wide. The rest of my advice, however, has no basis more reliable than my own rugby-playing, rugby-living experience (brief as that may be). I will dispense with the B.S. to you now.

Enjoy the play you get while you are young and injury-free. Oh never mind. You will not understand the pleasure and luxury of your youth until you've busted your nose, separated your shoulder, and torn your ACL.

Trust me, with a few years under your belt, and after a few years on the pitch, you'll look back to pictures of yourself, and you'll recall in a way you cannot possibly grasp now - how great you actually felt after playing a whole game, and how fabulous your face and legs really looked (once upon a time). You are not as old as you think you are. You just feel it. Welcome to rugby.

Don't worry about your future health. Or worry, but know that worrying while you continue playing is about as effective as trying to score a try while successfully running out the back of the try zone without touching the ball down. The real troubles in your health's life are apt to be the things that never crossed your worried mind, but which tackle you at 2:00 pm in the second half of a game on a Saturday afternoon.

At least once a season, volunteer to play a position that scares the s*** out of you.

Ruck.

Don't be dangerous with other teams' line-out jumpers. Definitely do NOT put up with teams who are dangerous with yours.

Maul.

Don't waste your time playing dirty. Sometimes you're on the top of the pile of bodies, sometimes' you're on the bottom. The game is 80 minutes long, and in the end, if someone raked you, either you or one of your teammates was able to hit them hard enough to hurt at least once by game's end.

Remember the constructive criticism you receive. Forget the griping that goes on the field. (Chugging a lot of beer right after the game usually helps with the latter).

Keep your old play-books. Throw out your old CIPP cards.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what the h*ll you're doing for the first couple of years you're playing. The most knowledgeable rugby players didn't know what the h*ll they were doing when they started out. The most honest of the most knowledgeable ones admit they still don't know everything about playing the game.

Take plenty of Advil.

Be kind to your knees ... and your shoulders ... and your arms ... and your neck ... and, well, everything else. You'll miss them when they stop working like they should.

Maybe you'll be a forward, maybe you'll be a back. Maybe CIPP will one day be an easy process, maybe it won't. Maybe you'll get suckered into being president for your team, and maybe your contribution will just be to be the anchor of your team's boat race crew. Whatever you do, don't grow too complacent, and always give it your best shot. Remember any team can beat any other team on any given day. But remember the reverse is true: any team can lose to any other team, as well.

Enjoy your body. Wait a minute, scratch that - you play rugby. Abuse it.

Don't be afraid of what people think of it ... wait a minute scratch THAT - you play rugby - such fear doesn't exist (come on we've all seen enough ruggers walking around in just sports bras to know that's true).

Dance - even if you're a forward and don't think you're as cute as the backs.

Get to know your front row. You never know when they'll get hurt or retire. Be nice to your teammates. They're the only ones to whom you never have to explain WHY you're playing this sport.

Understand that players of all abilities will come and go, but when they do come out, treat them all like you never want them to go (they may actually stay). Work hard to retain rookies, because the more you get to stay around, the more people you have to keep your team from folding, and the more people who will call you by name when you retire

If you're a back, play with the forwards at least once, and leave when you've run a game in their boots. If you're a forward play with the backs just once, and leave when your really appreciate how hard it is to catch some speed-demon in the open field.

Always be willing to play more than one position.

Accept certain inalienable truths: the ref doesn't care what you think really happened, Jos Bergmann will kick for points and usually make them, and you too, will get older and slower; and when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, refs would listen to your arguments, Jos would miss more than she would make, and the young players liked having old and slow players on the field - never minding that an old player missed a tackle because they couldn't get there. When you were young, you knew to respect your old girls.

Respect the old girls.

Don't bad mouth the administrators - on any level. Remember, most are volunteers trying to make things run smoothly. They do more stuff that you don't know about so that all you have to do is show up, pay dues, and play. Remember if it seemed like a pain in the a*s to get your information together so you could play in a tournament, try and imagine trying to collect everyone's information, organize it, and process it.

Don't expect anyone else to pick you up when you're down. Maybe you'll have teammates who will always bolster you up. Maybe you'll have a coach that always inspires you. The bottom line is - maybe you won't have these things, and this is up to YOU to dig deep, to play hard, and to play with heart.

Don't 'dis the players who wear scrum-caps. They're just trying to save what's left of their grey matter.

Be careful about choosing sides when an "issue" comes up on your team. Be aware that sides can develop. If they do - remember the truth is always somewhere in the middle, and if you let the truth be known, the sides' issues become moot points, and you all can just get on with why you're here - to play rugby. But do remember that dealing with the rest of the "stuff" is as much a part of being on a team, as just taking the field together.

You'll get bruised, you'll get sore, but you'll also get slaps on the back . You'll become part of a whole.

So trust me about playing rugby ... it's worth it.

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By Paul Horne, long time supporter and occasional photographer of the Frocs, and also webmaster of the club website - www.oldcollegiansrugby.org.au

I am unfortunate not to have played for Collegians.  Fate has a way of dictating what damage is done to you and from there on, needs must.   But to be passionate about a club despite that limitation must say a lot for the culture of the place.  And by culture I'm describing what comes out from the personalities and effort and passion of those from the past and the present.  The clubhouse and that paddock and the mood of the place has been created over a number of years.  And t here have been times, on a sunny day, with no-one there that you can gaze out over that field and wonder at it - made easier because it's free from all the annoying people who are there at other times in the year. Collegians' is unique.  It's not like Burnside, it's not like Adelaide Uni and it's not like Port Adelaide.  It goes without saying you'd say.  But how does it happen?  It happens in the way that English counties maintain their accents and their regional peculiarities.  It passes on from one person to another and from a group of people to another.  Brighton will always largely be mongrels as it's in their nature.  Souths may have now gone on the way to creating the beginnings of a new culture for themselves.  But this is a club made up of the most courageous, intelligent, urbane, articulate, good looking and sophisticated of people, with notable exceptions.  Brighton exists purely as a balance.  It's the people, the players, officials and supporters that create that uniqueness.  A lot of these tragics go un-noticed, these perpetually anonymous servants to a cause.  And some do it because they're too old or too lame or too perfect to play the game.    It could be that this rank sentimentality is just something created from being an Aussie abroad.  Certainly Adelaide becomes a more attractive place the further you get away from it.  Collegians' is like that as well, but just as attractive when you're there as when you're away.  There are times when you wish Hamish would come up with some new jokes and when there'd be some new people who would say new things and there have been days and nights over the past eight years that I've left the club fit to kill and days and nights when I'm feeling almost at peace with humanity.  But as with so many other things that are worthwile, you can't really appreciate the beauty of it unless some form of pain has been involved with it somewhere and there's been some of that.  The Club has been dominated over the past four years by the ever-present Crocs.  It is inconceivable, but to be expected, that the Crocs should disband sooner or later.  It's a tragedy, but a good time to get out.  Three years of Grand Finals and a finish in another Grand Final.  That's got to be good.  But I will miss them all. Were I there to miss them I would.  The club is like a small town.  Everything's there - the passion, the pain, the shagging, the drunks, the envy, the lust, the flirting, the people you love and the people you love to hate.  All indispensable.  I've stood by the fire, a few beers down and melancholy up, and looked at all the groups of people doing what people do.  Hamish being entertaining; Barry smiling tolerantly; a bunch of first-graders in a huddle with some of our women players sitting in or on or over them; others of our women players in a deep and meaningful talking of no idea what; Curtis observing and Curtis serving; Ted & Neil being composed but being composed enjoyably; Kim laughing; Kim & Stewie in a huddle with Kim crying; people with their arms around others; kids running around like Aussie kids do; Sue & Ann dislocating their necks; Chezza, Tedgie, Ray being passionate; Ray being mellow; the smokers outside; the occasional smoker sneaking one in; someone shouting someone else a beer; Jesse doing a lech impersonation; Jesse farting; Jesse's inate goodness and Jesse's sentimentality coming out occasionally; Junior seeking refuge; Bob squaring up in a Kiwi sort of way when she's talking or about to talk; Tara circulating and talking to everyone the way everyone should; James Denley happy to talk to everyone; Belinda looking like she'd like a microphone; Graham looking like he has one, much to everyone's alarm; people concluding conversations started the week before; people taking the piss; those sober one week and pissed the next; subtle hints being missed; subtle hints being taken; the not-so-subtle avoided; people slipping through to the log fire; promises made; stories embellished; everyone exercising their own personalities.  But you're not really missed when you move on.  It's the way of it all.  Like a neighbourhood, people come and go, and someone might remember you for a short while but then they too move on and all that's left is that club culture, for right or wrong, that may contain a small part of you in some opinion you may have had or some forgotten act for good or bad you did for someone once. 

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